


The Shed

by MissMoe



Series: Recto/Verso [2]
Category: Hyakujitsu no Bara | Maiden Rose
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:46:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoe/pseuds/MissMoe
Summary: Taki pushes Klaus to the breaking point.





	1. The Shed

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take what is arguably one of the most difficult scenes in Maiden Rose—the assault in the shed from Volume I—and inject a little irreverent humor. Humor may appear to be the last thing that should be paired with such a deeply tragic scene, but you know what they say: when life hands you lemons, make some freaking lemonade!
> 
> I really wanted to go to town with Taki since he’s so buttoned up and proper on the outside and we all know it’s the quiet ones who…you get the picture. So here’s a glimpse into Taki’s raw inner monologue when he’s at his worst. There’s an angry, vulnerable boy underneath all his layers of beautiful clothing. Don’t get me started on those military uniforms and ceremonial robes!

“Go ahead and do whatever you want,” I spit out after Klaus tosses me onto the floor of his shower stall and strips me naked. “No matter how much you scorn me or treat me with contempt, I’ll never be your bitch!”

Yeah, I was pissed off and I wanted to shove it right back in Klaus’s face. How dare he expect me to praise and pet him like a dog after he gave me a freaking heart attack by going AWOL before the enemy raid? And then I had to be the asshole raining on the parade thrown by that starry-eyed cadet when Klaus rolls up on his motorcycle all battered and bruised and still wearing that requisite smirk. That Haruki Yamamoto was totally crushing on Klaus and I had to swallow it, just stand there and keep my cool instead of screaming, “Quit eye-raping my knight, you snot-nosed brat!” Do you think I get any thanks? Nope. Klaus wants to hate-fuck me, just because I was able to maintain the proper level of decorum on the battlefield like any division commander should and must. What an utter child he is! Did he really think I could just jump out of Murakumo and plant a steaming kiss on his lips in front of everyone? I want to tell Klaus to grow the fuck up but then he turns the shower on and douses me fully clothed. We stare daggers at each other before he tears my clothes off. That’s when I stab him with my “I’ll never be your bitch” comment and the ball really gets rolling, yeah, like a gigantic boulder crashing down the hill headed straight for my teeny tiny naked body.

Meanwhile, Klaus is towering over me wearing the same shitty clothes he had on during the battle: his trousers and boots. I don’t understand why he never takes them off, but he’s looking pretty darn hot. “Fine then,” Klaus mulls introspectively. “Let’s see how much you can take.”

Oh, crap, I think to myself, what’s he going to do to me now?

And then he tells me plainly, “Suck it.”

He whips out his cock and he’s ridiculously, enormously hard already. Goddamn him! I slap on my most shocked expression, gingerly reach out my hand as if I’ve never seen the man’s erection before, and touch the tip of my tongue to the leaking head, but Klaus isn’t buying any of my theatrical nonsense. He grabs the back of my head and, without ceremony, shoves his cock into my mouth and orders, “Do it right!” when I continue playing the chaste virgin.

I shudder; I’m reduced to a spineless wreck when he uses that tone with me. Tears glisten like jewels at the corners of my eyes and I start mewling and whimpering as I gag myself on his cock but my feigned reticence only infuriates him for some reason. “Keep going!” he commands as he yanks roughly on my hair and pushes back into my mouth. I’m choking and saliva is running down my chin as I kneel in front of him but somehow my mind has gone blissfully blank. I’m not even angry anymore; there’s no room for that. I’m aware only of Klaus’s cock ramming down my throat and the fact that my knees are beginning to hurt as they chafe against the hard tile floor.

Finally, he pulls out and I retch and cough and gasp for air, my sides heaving. I can feel his eyes burning a hole into the top of my skull. I feel so fucking humiliated, by Klaus, by my own woefully inadequate performance. Is it _my_ fault no one ever taught me how to properly give head? My Shinto gods are looking down at me and shitting themselves—with mortification, with laughter, who knows? I’m screwed either way.

“We’re not done yet,” Klaus grumbles. “Stand up. Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

I stare up at him, my face alit with shame but it’s hopeless to resist him. I push myself off the floor, legs trembling, and stand facing the wall. I’m being punished and demeaned, but at least I don’t have to look at him right now; at least he can’t see the filthy goings-on of my body. Suddenly he’s on me, his chest pressed to my back, his breath hot on the nape of my neck, hands gripping my wrists and then reaching around to envelop my torso. He could so easily crush me. Why _doesn’t_ he crush me? Haven’t I driven him mad with my selfish pride, my silent dishonesty? Haven’t I driven us _both_ mad with what I’ve denied and withheld from him and me? I turn my head and see that his shoulder wound is bleeding through the bandages, but he’s oblivious to my words of concern, words that must ring empty and pathetic to him. Instead, he trails one hand down my body and grasps my cock. I’m found out and he revels in my dirty secret.

“You’re hard,” he grins into my ear. “You naughty thing. Did sucking mine turn you on?”

I want to die in an explosion of furious indignation because it’s all true: I’m hard, I’m naughty, and sucking Klaus’s cock made me hate myself more than ever because I can’t help but worship him—his cock, his scorn, his honesty in everything he does and says, all of it so pure and freely given it makes me know how filthy I am, that no matter how brave I appear on the battlefield, in my love for him I am an abject coward. I want to hide from him, from myself, but he won’t let me. His gaze strips me bare and leaves me so shamefully exposed. I want to hide from my gods, but they won’t let me either. Again, I am so royally screwed.

Klaus swings me around to face him, tries to kiss me, and then hesitates, reconsiders. “I was going to get this over with nice and quick, but I’ve changed my mind.” With that, he picks me up and tosses me onto his bed like a pile of wet laundry. I make a feeble attempt at a scowl but he puts me in my place immediately, his face a mere inch from mine and I’m the one who gives ground. I turn my face away and he lets me have it, abruptly shoves a finger inside me and spreads me wide. I flinch with guilty pleasure.

“Look at this,” he sneers. “It’s been less than a day since we were together.” He rubs his thumb roughly against my entrance. “See? It’s opening up like a flower.” I want to dig a pit and bury myself. He replaces his thumb with the head of his cock and of course I tell him, “No!” the one word sure to endear me to Klaus in bed. He ignores me. I’ve cried wolf too many times for him to pay me any mind.

“Relax your muscles,” he tells me, like a parent reminding a recalcitrant child to sit up straight for the millionth time. “Today, I’m putting it all the way inside you.”

My eyes bug out of my head and I quickly scramble away beneath him but he’s even quicker. “Oh no, you don’t.” He lunges over me and grabs my cock firmly in his hand as he penetrates me and I’m paralyzed, helpless. “There’s no running away now.” He strokes me roughly and within seconds my orgasm slams into me like a freight train, fear and adrenalin pouring out of me as I come hard into his hand. I am truly the lowest of the low, I think to myself as I collapse limply in his lap, and yet, when he pulls my hips against him and plunges into me once more, I still have the nerve to say the only other word in my extensive lovemaking vocabulary, “Stop!” I yell it even as he’s shoving my face into the sheets, thrusting his cock so deep inside me I can feel him in the pit of my stomach. There’s nothing to prevent him from tearing me to pieces, from pushing his cock all the way up my throat and out my open, shrieking mouth. Wouldn’t that be a sight for my gods?

There’s a knock on the door of Klaus’s shed—the doghouse, isn’t it?—and I instantly clam up. Funny how that works. One minute I’m screaming bloody murder, the next I’m as mute as a turtle, or a worm, because that’s how I feel, like a writhing worm impaled on Klaus’s enormous dick. Haruki’s voice intrudes into our space. “Klaus-sama! It’s me! Cadet Yamamoto!” Klaus pauses, put off by this sudden, unexpected distraction. He slips out of me as he straightens up to listen.

“Maybe he’s gone to bed,” I hear Haruki muttering on the other side of the door.

I roll onto my side and clamp my hands over my mouth to stifle my sobs. Big mistake, as this seems to annoy the shit out of Klaus even more than Haruki’s horrendous timing. I can’t believe it when Klaus grabs me by the hair and plows back into me even as he nonchalantly calls out to Haruki, “What do you want? I was nearly asleep.”

Are you kidding me? Knight and cadet commence a lengthy dialogue about gratitude and bravery and mutual admiration and the loaning of firearms. I can tell that Klaus loses track of the conversation at one point because he yells to Haruki in bewilderment, “What? You’re still there?” I would have laughed except it’s hard to do so while getting drilled every which way. After what feels like an eternity, Haruki finally takes his leave and it’s just me and Klaus and his cock in my sore ass once more. I wish too late that Haruki hadn’t left.

Klaus starts mocking me. “He’s gone now. You don’t have to hold it in anymore. Go on. Let me hear it.”

I decide to fight back the only way I know how to with him. I cut him down with my self-righteous disapproval. “Have you no shame?” I ask from atop my high horse. “That boy looks up to you, and you betray him with such disgusting, sordid acts.”

Take that, Klaus! What you do to me is despicable and appalling and it feels so damn good but I’ll never admit to it, I’ll never own up to it! You fuck me and hurt me and I’ll do the same to you! Make me, you bastard! Make me do what I can’t do on my own, carry the burden for both of us because I’m too fucking weak! I think all those things but I don’t say a word aloud. Klaus only hears me tell him that our lovemaking is nothing more than a rotting heap of garbage. Something snaps in him.

“I see,” he says quietly, the calm before the storm. “So that’s what you think of what we do.”

Then all hell breaks loose as he starts pounding into me like he's trying to wipe me from the face of the earth, he is so incensed. “It hurts!” I scream. “Klaus! It hurts!” The pain is agonizing and I bite my own wrist to comfort myself. I can taste the blood in my mouth as my teeth break the thin skin, feel it running down my arm and drip onto the sheets. I can feel something else running down between my legs wetting the mattress.

“You’re the shameless one!” he accuses, and he’s so right. “What’s it like to hold it in when I’m fucking into the deepest part of you? Answer me!” And then Klaus stills at last and his voice is so broken I can finally hear him with clarity, I can finally understand his desperate love for me. “Why do you reject me so much? Why now? Weren’t you the one who said you wanted me first?”

And then I remember, that day in the palace gardens all those years ago, when I had reached out for him and he had held me up and granted me my wish. I had asked him then to be mine and he had given himself to me, even then, right down to this moment, he had given himself completely, and I had taken his love for granted even as I withheld my own love from him. I had taken all of him for myself and given nothing back except a dishonest taste. It was too much to bear, the realization of what I had done to him. It was too much.

“Forgive me,” I say.

And then I black out. My gods must have taken pity on me.


	2. The Shed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus does a very bad thing. He regrets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus is such a great character: he’s open, honest, a real straight shooter. But what I love most about him is his penchant for poetic musings. Some of Fusanosuke’s most lyrical illustrations involve Klaus and his memories of the past. When you peel away his rough exterior, what you’re left with is a man who is all heart. And muscle. Oh, wait, the heart is a muscle.
> 
> Those who hate Klaus probably hate him for this scene where, I think we can all agree, things go a tad too far. Okay. Things go off the cliff...perhaps.
> 
> Here's how Klaus sees things, sad as they are.

I’ve had it. I walk Taki back to my shithole of a shed and slam the door behind us. Not that I’m complaining about my luxurious accommodations—the “doghouse” as I’ve heard people say behind my back. I’m a simple man and I don’t need much to be happy: cigarettes, a warm coat and, hey, how about a pat on the back for saving a teenaged cadet’s ass from the bad guys and blasting a clear path for my beloved’s tank corps? Is that really too much to ask for? Yeah, it was obviously too fucking much to ask for because all I got from my master was a terse, “Good work,” and then he peeled off in Murakumo as much as anyone can peel off in a tank, leaving me choking in the dust. He wouldn’t even let that kid Haruki finish telling me how awesome I was. Give me a fucking break.

Okay, so maybe I annoyed Taki a little by tying up his wrists and having my way with him hours earlier and then sneaking into town to rendezvous with my agent from the Western Alliance. How was I to know I would be stuck on my motorcycle with my very own personal stalker, Haruki Yamamoto, when the raid hit? It wasn’t my idea to bring a kid to the front lines and, truth be told, Haruki was fairly useless, shrieking like a prepubescent girl in my ear every time a shell exploded kilometers away. After I dumped the boy into Murakumo, I was ready to kick some ass. “Give me your passion and voice,” I told Taki, “and I will make it into a sword to destroy all in your path.” I outdid myself with that one, I thought. Surely, an educated man like Taki would appreciate the brilliant poetry of my words. Shakespeare couldn’t do any better.

Like everything to do with Taki, I was dead wrong. The much-deserved praise wasn’t forthcoming, not by a long shot, so I do what any man worth his salt would do. I decide to fuck it out of him, take what is rightly mine. Does that make me a bad person? Obviously, it does, or so he wants me to believe. He’s resisting me, his back rigid and ramrod straight as I push him into my small bathroom. We’re both filthy from the battlefield and I can smell my own ripe sweat and the blood seeping through my bandaged shoulder. I can smell him, too, the stink of diesel fuel and smoke, but above all I smell _him_ , his intoxicating scent, heady with the kind of perfume exuded by the rarest of roses. It drives me mad with frustration and desire. I want to devour him, hurt him, make him see me and accept my love, make him give in and give back.

“Sorry my shower is so small and messy,” I tell him, the insincerity clear in my voice, “but I don’t think I can sleep until I’ve had you.” That last part was sincere.

“Go fuck yourself!” he hisses like the aristocratic alley cat that he is.

Right, not exactly the response I was hoping for but what else could I expect from him? He’s been a complete stranger to me ever since we’ve been back in his country, a country stricken by self-imposed isolation and unquestioning obeisance to tradition. This place is calcifying, suffocating, stultifying! I want to shatter all of its barriers, wall upon wall of prim and proper behavior, all of it hiding truth and beauty, the beauty of my beloved Taki if only he would see it and not cringe. After I knelt before him and kissed his ceremonial bow and robes when he made me his knight, I had assumed we would be closer than ever, bound body and soul until death do us part. I had assumed our devotion to each other would run even deeper, that what we had shared in our room at Luckenwalde and then on the train ride over would blossom further, open up like a flower and engulf us in its beauty. Wrong! So fucking wrong! For six months now he’s punished me with his obstinate silences, his indignant glares, like he’s slapping me in the face with every word not spoken, every kiss stolen and not returned, merely begrudged. I can’t understand why he’s changed so much and he won’t even deign to tell me. Fine. I do what I have to do because he leaves me no choice. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder if this is what he truly wants, for me to be the rabid dog groveling in its own vomit so he can remain above it all. His skin is so pale and unblemished except where it’s purple with the bruises and welts that are my marks on him. Goddamn him! Why does he do this to me? Why does he make me hate myself when all I want to do is show him the goodness and purity of my love?

I turn the shower on him and choke down a laugh. Cats hate getting wet, I think to myself. How do you like me now, Taki? Now who’s fucked? He continues to berate me in typical highfalutin style; it’s just like him to make me feel like _I’m_ the one who’s being an asshole. Then he tells me with a sneer that he’ll never be my bitch. That stops me in my tracks. I can feel the anger rise in me like magma shooting up through a crevasse in the rocks but I don’t blow my top. No. I’ve got other plans. I take out my cock and force him to suck me off and again I have to stifle the laughter roiling in my gut as I watch him gag on me. This is too good. But he’s doing a terrible job of it and I order him to do it properly. So fucking hilarious! I stare down at him and he’s glaring back at me, his eyes red and teary, his lips stretched around me, spit running down his chin. I’m reveling in how undignified he looks. My sweet prince. I wipe his saliva onto my hands and try to caress his cheek. I’m feeling a little guilty, but then I remember the last time I tried to caress his cheek and the way he slapped my hand away and told me to “show some discretion.” The memory pisses me off and my fury is only magnified when he does the same to me now. Wrong move, Taki. I grab his hair and tell him to keep at it until he’s hunched over and retching at my feet but I’m not done with him yet. I stand him up against the wall and grope him roughly and discover that he’s hard! What a naughty little boy he is! The pathetic blowjob he gave me seems especially unsatisfactory now.

I pick him up and throw him onto my bed. He’s wet and naked and looks a mess and it’s turning me on like nobody’s business. I go straight for the gold, spreading his thighs, spreading his hole with my fingers. He’s protesting like crazy and I’m just eating it up. I threaten to shove my cock all the way up inside him and I have every intention of making good my threat, even as he makes that face at me, that no/yes-stop/don’t stop face that drives me insane. He’s such a slut for me, even if he pretends not to be, I know better. He only proves the rightness of my thinking when he tries to squirm away. I catch him easily and when I grip his cock in my hand and push into him at the same time, he comes almost immediately, crying and trembling. Enough said. I give him a moment to unclench before I start thrusting in earnest. There’s a knock on the door. What the fuck?

“Klaus-sama! It’s me! Cadet Yamamoto!”

Jesus Christ, not that kid again. I hear Haruki muttering something and in my impatience I shout, “What do you want?”

This only makes Haruki even more eager to pursue this “conversation.” I let him ramble on, half-listening, as I pull Taki’s hips to me again. I’m seriously annoyed, not just at Haruki, but at Taki for lying there sniffling miserably, his hands clamped over his mouth like he didn’t just enjoy an A+ orgasm. I plow back into Taki and he’s begging me to let him go which only makes me pound him with renewed vigor. Meanwhile, Haruki is asking me if he can keep the gun I had loaned him for a while longer because he thinks it’ll enable him to man up at a faster-than-snail’s-pace or something like that; it’s hard for me to fuck Taki and listen to Haruki’s oral defense on bravery and honor and, goddamn it, can’t a man be left alone to fuck in peace? I use every brain cell in my skull to tell Haruki that he can keep the blasted gun, shit, he can do whatever he wants with it, stick it up his ass, I don’t care!

Lord have mercy, the kid finally leaves and I could almost kiss Taki, I’m so grateful to be rid of Haruki, but Taki’s grimacing in that stone cold silent way of his and I can’t resist prodding him. I want to hear his voice, those moans and whimpers, like he used to do when things were good between us. He hits me over the head with a sledgehammer instead, telling me that what I do to him is dirty and shameful, that I’ve let Haruki down just because I’m making love with my one and only. What does Haruki have to do with this? I wonder. It’s not like I was fucking him, too! How is any of this bad? We love each other, don’t we, Taki? How can anything be more precious than what we have together? But his words have cut me to pieces and my heart is bleeding right in my chest. I’m so overwhelmed with despair. Is this what he really believes? That our lovemaking is disgusting? I ask him aloud and the act of saying it sends me over the cliff. You loved me back then, I think to myself, you were so small in my arms, like a beautiful doll, and you wanted me first. You held your hand out to me first, you son of a bitch! I have no awareness of what I’m doing. All I see is red, red, red and my body is bucking and convulsing of its own accord, driven by the most wretched need for…for a sign, however faint and subtle, a sign telling me that you love me like I love you. Oh, my master, that’s all I want!

Taki goes completely limp beneath me—he’s spread eagled and defenseless—and his vulnerability finally pulls me out of the abyss. His eyes well up with tears that spill over onto his cheeks as he looks back at me. “Forgive me,” he whispers in the softest voice, and I lose him to oblivion.

I’m confused and disoriented, as if I’ve just woken from a dream into a nightmare. I pat him on the face gently, trying to rouse him from his stupor but he only sinks deeper into unconsciousness. “Taki?” I venture timidly. “Taki. Hey. Say something.” He’s as still as a corpse and now I’m scared. Then I see the blood between his legs and my heart seizes. His blood is all over the sheets like a scarlet stain of accusation. “Taki!” I scream. I cradle his face in my hands and gape like a fool.

In a daze I wrap the bloodied sheet around Taki’s slender body and hold him swaddled in my arms. “I didn’t come to this country to do something like this,” I tell him, as if he’s listening and being his usual silent self, but he doesn’t hear me, of course not. I don’t know what to do, so I hold him and gently caress him, and so much floods into my head I can hardly breathe. He’s a child again in my arms wearing his ceremonial robes and touching my cheek. He’s the young soldier in training on a night mission gone wrong, knocked out after a vicious blow to the back of the head. I held him then, and he came back to me, not like the men I lost in the air. He’s my maiden rose, the one I plucked greedily and then destroyed because I couldn’t stand to lose its beauty. I buried that rose, that rarest rose, and now I’ve done it again. The sheet around his tiny broken body is a shroud, isn’t it?

I wonder what my sister Claudia would say to me now. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” she had warned me when I had confessed to her my intention to betray my family and my country, all for the love of a young man barely on the cusp of adulthood. I would give up everything I had and walk into the unknown for a foreign noble, follow him back to his land in the East and be a dog at his feet just to be near him. Ah, but Taki was so exquisite and he was the fulfillment of my grandfather’s words, that to find the fragrance of the flower was to find one’s soul mate, to find one’s other half, to be made whole and complete at last, to arrive at one’s true homeland. If one ever came across that scent, then its sweetness could not, should not, be denied. No, one had to grasp it and hold on, come hell or high water. But Claudia knew me better than I knew myself. She understood my hunger, that I could lose myself in my voracious appetite, that I would throw caution to the wind and fly blindly through the darkest moonless night sky over an unforgiving ocean, the distant horizon utterly, frighteningly gone. Oh, dear sister, if only I had your prescient wisdom, would I be in this mess right now? Yeah. Probably.

I bend my head and breathe Taki’s scent deep into my nostrils. “Let me come home to you,” I plead, but I’m lost, so fucking lost.


End file.
